


Fat Cavill

by RelentlessBard



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Non-Graphic Smut, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelentlessBard/pseuds/RelentlessBard
Summary: Cast your mind back to the distant days of 2005... before social media really took off, before phones had cameras and the internet was god, and before everyone posted pictures online of every damn thing they did.In those days, children, it was entirely plausible that you could go five years without seeing a photo of one of your friends.It is in this strange, obsolete reality that we find our protagonists, Henry Cavill and an OFC - childhood friends who have not seen each other since the Fat Cavill days.(I don’t think anyone really believes Henry Cavill was ever fat, or anything less than gorgeous if he was fat, but this seemed like a fun premise so here we are).
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Original Character(s), Henry Cavill/Original Female Character(s), Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Fat Cavill

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a bit of fun. I wasn’t really into Henry Cavill before The Witcher, and I still think he looks best when he’s not all clean-cut and shiny. There’s also just something about long hair and black leather that gets to me.  
> Anyway, he has neither of those things in this story. But he is sweet and kind and pretty, and the OFC is (hopefully) a hoot.  
>   
> Disclaimer: I’m not British, I haven’t been to Jersey, and I only did about 10 minutes of research for this fic. The beach I describe is probably a nice family spot. Ha.  
> Anyhoo, enjoy!

  
**2005**  
**Jersey, Channel Islands  
Harriet’s house**

I yanked open the front door and looked straight into the face of my long lost Fat Cavill. Only I couldn’t look straight into his face anymore, because he was somehow much taller than me - and to make matters worse, he wasn’t Fat Cavill at all. This man was - well, a man for starters! Fit Cavill was more like it. Tall and broad-chested, every trace of baby fat utterly vanished from his face. 

I knew that face, and yet I didn’t. The features that had previously belonged to my rather dorky, floppy-haired, nerdburger friend from drama class were still there, but they had refined themselves into some kind of unnaturally chiselled perfection. Even his hair was exactly right - short enough to be masculine, but long enough to twist into delicious tiny curls that just begged to be played with. All together, it was enough to make you sick, really.

We’d kept in touch pretty well over the phone and via email since he moved away, but I hadn’t seen the few movies he’d been in, and we weren’t the type to send each other pictures. Then I’d gone to study in France and we kept missing each other when we went home for the holidays. So, here we were five years on, and there was absolutely nothing to prepare me for my sweet friend Henry turning into the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life. 

As he pulled me in for a hug, my cheek pressed against a huge wall of muscle, his arms strong around me. It was a nice hug, comfortable and friendly, but it wasn’t the familiar old cushiony Cavill embrace I remembered from school. I breathed in a heavy sigh and - of course he even smelled heavenly. No more Lynx body spray and teenage BO for this one. 

I pulled back, suddenly shy, and a little shaken that I was now apparently the short, chubby one. As I looked up - and up - I found myself staring directly at a firm jawline and dimpled chin covered in short stubble, his lips pursed into a wry grin at my wide-eyed expression.  
“Good to see you, Anderson,” he said warmly, finally cracking a huge smile as he looked down at me. 

And that was better, focusing on his slightly crooked teeth, and those devious blue eyes with a splash of brown, that sparkled the same way they did during the thousand childhood pranks we played together. These things, at least, had not changed. 

An answering grin spread across my face as I took him in, trying to think of something normal to say, instead of the crazy and/or thirsty comments that were running through my head.  
“Cavill... what the hell happened to you?” I burst out, with a slightly manic giggle.  
Smooth, Harriet. Real smooth. 

Henry’s whole face flushed bright pink at my question, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. That was another thing I could recognise, at least. He’d always had the habit of entirely changing colour at the slightest provocation. 

“About five years happened, I guess?” he offered sheepishly. “I mean, you look quite different yourself. Beautiful. I mean, you were always beautiful Harri but, uh... well, we were just kids weren’t we, and uh... well. Can I... can I come in?” 

It was my turn to morph into a rather lovely shade of magenta. What exactly was happening here?  
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I had no idea how to respond, so I reverted straight back to my 16 year old self.  
“Alright Cavill, come in and explain yourself, then,” I barked, pulling him inside behind me.

He followed me meekly as I led him by the arm into the living room. Not that I needed to - he’d been our almost-neighbour in Jersey since we were both about 7 years old, and knew my house almost as well as I did. But my hands seemed to have a mind of their own when it came to this new, sexy Henry. And his arms were really very nice to hold onto, thank you very much. 

“Oh my goodness, Henry, is that you?” My mum exclaimed, rushing over and spinning him away from me. “Oh darling, you’ve gotten so handsome! What a gorgeous young man you are!”  
“Mum!” I huffed, “Stop embarrassing yourself!”  
Henry was tomato-coloured again, and laughing softly as my mother pinched his cheeks and ruffled a hand through his hair.

“But look at him, love! None of us thought you’d grow into such a stud, did we? Not our chubby little Henry. Now here you are, all grown up and no doubt driving the ladies wild,” she purred.  
Henry laughed and shook his head helplessly at Mum while I quietly melted into the carpet with humiliation. There are definite drawbacks to still living with your parents at the age of almost-22.

“Mum. Oh my god. Please go and get Henry some tea and - I don’t know - bake something, will you?” I exclaimed in desperation.  
“Alright, alright Harriet. But I’m sure you thought the same thing when you saw him, didn’t you love?” And she winked - WINKED at the two of us.

And then I died and was completely dead and everyone mourned the sudden loss of me.  
If only.

Oh god. Alright. Where was I? 

Amidst a litany of further outrageous comments, winking and not-at-all-subtle innuendo, Mum furnished us with cups of tea and a pile of freshly baked cookies, and finally left us (somewhat) alone in the lounge.  
We looked at each other and immediately burst out laughing, which lifted a huge amount of awkwardness. 

Henry turned to the huge plate of cookies, eyes widening, and I swear he muttered something about cheat day under his breath before reaching out to take three.  
“Are you even allowed cookies these days?” I chuckled.  
“Absolutely not,” he mumbled, his mouth absolutely full of chocolate chips. “These are delicious, Mrs A!”  
“Thank you sweetheart!” she called back.  
  
And that settled that question. We wouldn’t have any privacy within these paper-thin walls.

“Do you want to get out of here after this?” I suggested. “Maybe go for a ride down to Beauport?”  
Henry’s eyes lit up.  
“I would love that. How are old Ludo and Didymus going?”  
“Not as quick as they used to be, but they’re living their best lives and we haven’t had any complaints.”

“I’ll bet.” Henry sighed. “I’ve really missed being here.”  
I couldn’t help smiling at that. “There’s nowhere on earth like Jersey.”  
Henry smiled back at me. “Well that’s true. But I really meant I’ve missed being here... at your place. With you. And your slightly mad mother.”  
I blinked. “Oh.”

My brain slowed down to a crawl, and I realised Henry was looking shyly at me with what seemed like admiration.  
At me. Harriet Anderson. Horse-loving, Shakespeare-reading, Sci-Fi-watching Nerd Extraordinaire of the Channel Islands. Sitting here with dear old Fat Cavill, who had somehow gotten himself the body of a Greek god and the face of a Hollywood-level babe, and  _he_ was missing being here in Nowheresville, Jersey. With  _me_.

The silence grew heavy as I tried to remember words. Any words.  
This was just perfect. Henry-Babin’-Cavill was gazing at me like I was the most fascinating woman in the world, and here I was apparently having a stroke. As I sat there gaping like a stunned mullet, he leaned in close and tucked my hair behind my ear, his hand softly grazing my cheek.  
“Harri...” he murmured, and I melted into the floor for the second time that day, but for a completely different reason. 

I swallowed hard and dared to reach up and run my fingers through those lush curls, like I’d been dying to do ever since I saw him.

And oh - the pure, sweet joy on his face when I did that! The light that suddenly sparked in his expressive eyes! He could have been the most average lad alive, and that look of hopeful adoration would have been my undoing.  
On Henry it was almost overwhelming.

I managed to shake myself out of my trance long enough to address the elephant in the room.  
“Cavill, you are a legit movie star...”  
“I’m not!” He scoffed.  
“If you’re not, you will be any minute now.” I insisted. “And look at you. You can have any girl you want.”  
His expression softened. “Can I?” He murmured.  
I swallowed hard.  
“Can I have _this_ girl?” He whispered, leaning in. 

Of course my mother chose that precise holy moment to come back in to offer us fresh tea.  
We sprang apart - highly suspiciously - and of course Mum made things a thousand times worse by backing out of the doorway at top speed, apologising profusely and telling us to “Go for it, don’t let me get in the way of young love!” 

The door shut with a bang, and we just sat there in silence for a moment, twin beetroots chilling on a sofa. My heart was pounding so loud I bet Mum could hear it through the walls.  
“Shall we go for that ride?” I offered desperately.  
Henry cocked a mischievous eyebrow at me.  
“The horse ride... oh my god, Henry. I am already dying of embarrassment - have mercy.”  
We both broke into peals of laughter, and he offered a hand to pull me to my feet. 

As I rose, he drew me in close to his chest with a little bump.  
“Cavill, are you trying to kill me?” I mumbled, “You’re as solid as a brick wall, you know.”  
“Thick as a wall too. It took me long enough to figure this out,” he whispered, cupping my cheek and brushing a thumb over my lips.  
“Woah, no, not in the house! Mum is one hundred percent leaning against the door with a glass,” I exclaimed, skipping back out of his reach, but my heart was singing at his words.

Henry followed me out to the stables where my two beautiful Morgan horses, Ludo and Didymus, were waiting. Yes, I did name them after the puppets in Labyrinth. Mum found it horrifying that such a majestic breed would forever bear the names of Muppets, but it was all affectionate nostalgia on my part. 

Speaking of affectionate nostalgia... being on horseback with Henry stripped away all the years we’d been apart. We had both adored horses since we were small, and it felt completely natural to be riding together again. I breathed in a happy sigh and let it out slowly, sending gratitude out into the universe.  
  
But when I turned back, it was Fit Cavill who was watching me with a lazy grin on his lovely face, and it sent a wave of shivers through my whole body. I shook my head. Well  _that_ wasn’t something I was used to yet.  
“You are going to be the death of me, Cavill,” I muttered, and took off at a gallop towards the beach. 

Beauport had always been our favourite - wild and quiet, and it almost looks like a tropical paradise, if you can catch it on a warm enough day. Today was one of those days. We had to leave the horses at the top of the steep stairs and make our way down to the sand without them, but there was no danger of them running off. They knew the drill. And everyone on the island knew whose horses they were if anything did happen. 

After a bit of a stroll along the sand and a scramble to see the rock pools, Henry got a glint in his eye that I recognised.  “What?” I asked suspiciously.  
He lifted his shirt off and tossed it onto the sand.  
“Cavill, what...” 

And then I couldn’t speak, because the wall of muscles that I had hugged earlier was now displayed in its full glory.  
“Come on!” Henry beckoned, stripping off his shorts and running into the sea. 

Ladies and gentlemen, there was nothing under those shorts. And let me tell you, I have never seen an arse that I wanted to bite so badly, before or since.  
I think I stood there for a full ten seconds before it occurred to me that I was expected to follow suit.  
I had a moment of hesitation before giving in to the absurdity of the whole day.  
“Oh fuck it.” 

I left my things on a tall rock - at least  _one_ of us would be coming back to dry clothes - and raced after Henry.

This was not, in fact, a tropical beach, anddespite the sunshine, the sea was colder than a snowman’s ballsack. I crossed my arms over my chest, and made it up to where the water hit my belly before I started shrieking and jumping up and down to warm up. Henry was beside me in a moment, encouraging me to dive under.  
I took a breath and under we went.

Swimming was a little better, mostly because I was entirely distracted and unnaturally warmed by the sight of a wet, naked Henry beside me. And by the way he kept looking over at me with this incredulous delight, as though  _he_ was somehow the lucky one in this scenario.

Don’t get any ideas about us making love in the ocean or anything. I mean, there are waves and currents and a lot of salt, not to mention nothing to brace yourself against, and - look, it is just not practical, my friends.  
Sand is an equally ill-advised surface for love making, as it does tend to find its way into all the wrong cracks and chafe like you wouldn’t believe.  
Just in case, you know, you were getting any ideas.

We did, however, eventually make our way back to the beach and into our clothes, and spent the rest of the day talking, making up for lost time.  
And kissing. A  _lot_ of kissing. I mean, we made up for  _years_ of not kissing each other on that one afternoon. It was fucking  _decadent._ And he was exactly as delicious and sweet and wonderful as I always knew him to be.

I can’t really tell you how it felt to share salty kisses, skin warm beneath each other’s hands. To hear his heartbeat when I rested my head against his chest, to run a hand up through the wet curls at the back of his neck and feel him shiver beneath me. I definitely can’t tell you what Henry whispered to me as we watched thewhite caps form on the waves, the gulls caught on the wind. I am not great at describing these things. 

But for once it seemed like something in my life was inevitable, and it was Henry, and we were together, and we were home. 


End file.
